


Stay

by osointricate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-03
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 18:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/421849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osointricate/pseuds/osointricate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is worried about Derek's house when a storm blows in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

Stiles hated driving in the rain at night. Doubly so in the muddy dirt roads that lead through the more forest friendly side of town. The storm was getting bad with winds blowing against the side of his jeep that kept jerking his steering wheel, and - not for the first time - Stiles was thankful for his four wheel drive. He turned right, taking the road that would lead past the Hale house, windshield wipers going at full speed, and his headlights flashed over the shiny black surface of Derek’s sports car.

 

He slowed as he passed the house, looking as best he could through the trees and rain. But there was something off. The lights on the inside of Derek’s car were on. Stiles stopped the car and realized that the guy was waiting out the storm inside of his car.

He gripped the steering wheel and tried to force himself to focus on the road that would lead him home to a hot shower, a hot pocket, and warm bed, but he kept finding himself looking up the skinny dirt drive that led up the hill towards Derek.

“Crap,” he groaned as he turned left up the hill. He pulled in as close to Derek’s car as he could and began bracing himself with his coat to go outside into the rain.

But just as he was reaching for the door handle, Derek was standing at his window. Stiles flailed back and hit the horn on accident.

“Go home,” Derek shouted angrily. It was muffled in the wind and rain and through the window but the message was there. 

Stiles licked his lips and shouted back, “dude you’re spending the night in your car.”

“Go home,” Derek repeated.

“No,” Stiles shouted back. Derek’s eyes flashed red and Stiles’ heart jumped up into his throat.

Okay, so maybe offering an angry werewolf his couch for the night wasn’t the brightest idea he’d ever had. He tried to swallow his heart back down. And when he tried to open the door, Derek just pushed it back closed. He tried again, but Derek was putting all his strength to hold it shut.

Frustrated, Stiles rolled down his window. The rain was cold and the wind made it feel like tiny bits of frozen water were hitting his face. He shivered but held his ground. Derek was soaked. He didn’t know how he was standing out in the rain in just a t-shirt. 

“Oh come on!” He said, “My couch isn’t going to hurt you!”

“I don’t need your charity,” Derek practically growled. Stiles took a steadying breath. “Go home,” he ordered again. Then he turned around, but not towards his car, towards the house. Stiles watched as he rushed up the porch and through the front doors..

“Crap,” he said again as he shook, rolled the window back up, and opened the jeep door to follow him. The rain had his sweater wet in seconds and it ran down his neck getting his shirt wet. He shivered at the cold. But by the time he reached the front steps, Derek was outside again, and had shoved him back off the bottom step. 

Stiles slipped in the mud and struggled to keep standing upright. He took a few breaths to steady himself and then looked up at Derek with determination.

“Why are you being so stubborn?”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

“Look, it’s not charity!” Derek rolled his eyes. “It’s not! …I owe you.”

“What?”

“Saving me from Peter when…” was all he said, but he trailed off when Derek’s eyes grew dark. Not red, but dark. Stiles recognized that darkness. He saw it in his father’s eyes whenever his mother came up in conversation. He saw it in the mirror in the aftermath of those conversations. His mouth fell open at the connection. Derek saw the recognition on Stiles’ face and his eyes only grew darker. 

“Just leave me alone, Stiles,” Derek said without conviction. Then he turned and headed back inside the house, anger and frustration gone. Apathy was left on the empty front porch and it settled deep in Stiles’ stomach. He was left standing, alone in front of Derek’s home, flabbergasted. 

Looking up, he finally took the time to take in the home. He had always known it was a shell of a home, unsuitable for use as an actual place of dwelling, a health hazard, and a death trap. It was the old burned down house at the top of the hill on the edge of town. An ugly stain in the history of an otherwise quiet small town.

But he never looked at it like a home.

People lived here, he realized. He was soaked through to his undershirt, shivering against the wind, and yet he couldn’t move. Derek’s mother was here. His father, his sister, his aunts and uncles and cousins. They all were here. Life used to flow through these walls, happy and full. This was a home where his family slept and ate and lived. A huge family full of support and warmth and love gone with a single light of a match. Derek wasn’t just living in a house that should be condemned, he was living in the last place he had a connection to his family.

Derek’s stubbornness wasn’t born of pride, it was born of pain.

Stiles understood.

“I know you can hear me,” he said to the broken home. “So I just want to say…” he took a step back, searching for the right words. “You deserve to be happy.” He blinked and looked down, wiping the rain from his eyes. Maybe it was tears, but he wasn’t going to admit that. And when he looked back up, he wished for nothing more than for Derek to be standing on the front porch again. 

He wasn’t.

“It’s your home, I get it.” Stiles kept talking. “But you deserve to be happy. And warm. And safe. And everything they wanted for you.”

He waited a moment, watching each window, feeling anger at the ones that were broken from some bored kids with rocks. The house creaked with a gust of wind. Thunder echoed through the valley. Every inch of Stiles was wet. But still, he was alone.

When it was clear that Derek wasn’t moving, Stiles took another step back. “Okay. Stay safe, at least. My couch is still open. My door won’t be locked.”

Stiles got back in his jeep, went home, took a shower, and landed face first in his mattress, too emotionally exhausted to think about what just happened. And in the morning he was disappointed to find that the pillow and blanket he had sat out on the arm of the couch hadn’t moved.

It didn’t storm again for a few weeks. But in the meantime, Derek had let up on his aggressiveness. He was rough on Scott and Jackson as always but he didn’t shove Stiles around like normal. Once, when Stiles made a smart aleck remark about wolves and marking fire hydrants during a round of ‘tracking training’ in the woods, he fully expected a shoulder full of tree. All he got was a set of rolled eyes and a smack to the back of his head.

Okay, so he only let up just a little.

But he did buy them all lunch.

They didn’t talk about that night in the rain. Stiles desperately wanted to and didn’t want to at the same time. All the feelings it brought up about his own mother made him look at Derek in a whole new light. He wished Derek was a hugging kinda guy. Stiles and his dad hugged all the time, his dad made sure that they were, and all he wanted to do was wrap Derek up in his arms and squeeze.

It was weird, considering the guy could literally tear him in half if he tried.

Once, Stiles caught him staring up at the burned house, much like Stiles had that rainy night, with the same dark expression deep in his eyes. He watched as Derek inspected every window on the front of the house, certain that the guy was remembering better times. Christmases and Fourth of Julys and random Tuesday afternoons full of more than burnt wood and broken glass. Stiles watched as his eyes fell on the collapsed bit of roof and how he couldn’t look at it for very long. How he looked down and how his shoulders tensed up and his hands curled into fists and his eyes shut tight.

Then Stiles sniffed and Derek turned with a look of shock. Stiles didn’t move. He just blinked as Derek stared him down. Derek nodded, just slightly, but the tension in his shoulders fell, and his hands relaxed. Stiles grinned a sad smile, and nodded back. 

Then Jackson’s car pulled up and Stiles watched as the Alpha beat the crap out of Scott and Jackson while ‘trying to teach them to defend themselves.’ He and Allison shared popcorn and orange sodas on the hood of his jeep.

It was the closest the two of them had ever gotten to talking about it.

Until a few days later, after Lydia figured everything out and confronted them all, which resulted in a few hours worth of explanation and dealing with a stubborn and angry Derek pacing on the upstairs landing. It was Lydia that said it. What set Derek off, what caused him to yell and flash red eyes at everyone, and what caused Stiles to jump up between him and the others and yell right back.

“I mean, is this house even safe?” 

It was a legitimate concern, Stiles himself had it. But Derek had just spent hours revealing his family’s secrets to yet another teenager and he lost it. Jackson made a face that suggested that he agreed with her, Allison catching his eye and agreeing. 

“Well if you don’t feel safe, get out!” Derek had yelled, making his way down the stairs.

“But what about you?” She asked, concern in her eyes. And that’s what did it.

“What about me?” He screamed. “This is my home. This is all I have left! It’s all I have to offer anyone!” He moved closer to her, Lydia shrinking back into Alison and Jackson, eyes wide and terrified. “And if you don’t like it,” his eyes turned red and Stiles could hear Lydia gasping, “then leave me alone!”

And Stiles had it. He pushed himself between Derek and Lydia and shoved at Derek as best he could. Scott had jumped up at the action, ready to defend Stiles - and later he would be thankful - but at the moment all of Stiles’ energy was focused on Derek.

“No!” Stiles had yelled back at him. Derek growled at him, werewolf teeth growing. “Oh growl at me all day long, it doesn’t change the fact that you are living in graveyard!”

Derek stepped back, as if Stiles had shoved him again, but his eyes were still red, and his teeth were still sharp.

“You spend all your time in a place where your entire family died, and you might think that it’s all you’ve got left anymore, but Derek, these ghosts are going to eat you alive.”

“What would kno-”

“Oh don’t try that argument with me!” He stepped forward, “I’ve had loss too. I’ve lived with it too! It’s heavy. It’s insane how something that feels so empty can be so heavy.” A tear escaped his eye, but he ignored it. 

“I think about my mom every day. And she’s in my house and following my dad around and I see it! I see it on him every time someone sits in her chair in the living room, or when Jeopardy is on, and on my birthdays when I blow out the candles. I don’t just see it on him, I feel her following me around too. And I don’t want to forget her, I never want to forget her. But I can’t live the rest of my life sad that she didn’t get all the years she should’ve had.”

He took a moment to wipe his face and breathe. Derek was all human again, and he was staring straight at Stiles, not moving.

“And that’s just my mom. That’s just one person I’ve lost. You’re feeling what I’m feeling ten fold.” He broke eye contact then and looked up at the ceiling. “But you have got to know that there are people that care about you. At least enough to be worried about you and collapsing support beams, a bathroom that has four walls, and safe place to be when storms come rolling in.”

Derek’s eyes snapped back to Stiles.

“I can’t speak for everyone. But you keep talking about pack and family and having each other’s backs and you might be the big, bad Alpha but Derek… wolves work better in numbers. Lone wolves don’t do that well.”

Derek was rolling his eyes again, so Stiles knew he was getting into territory that he didn’t quite have a place to say. 

“Just… don’t jump down our throats when we want to have your back.”

They were all quiet for awhile, everyone waiting for Derek to do anything other than stare at Stiles with this blank stare. It was a bit unnerving, his face, and how quiet everything got.

“Whoa,” Jackson said from somewhere in the room behind him.

“I was just-” Lydia started.

“Shh,” Allison stopped her. And, not for the first time since she found out about Scott, Stiles was thankful for Allison.

“Okay,” Stiles said, shifting his weight under Derek’s gaze. “I’m done. You can yell at me now.”

The silence continued. Derek’s shoulders relaxed and his breathing got slower. And then the soft rumble from far off echoed through the house. Derek, Scott, and Jackson all turned towards it, werewolf hearing probably hearing it ten times better than Stiles’ human ears. But he knew what it was.

Thunder.

Derek’s eyes flashed back to Stiles’ but for the first time they weren’t full of anger or annoyance or rage. Derek was looking at him like they had a secret.

“You all should get home before the storm hits,” he said, voice even and calm. “It’s not far, and it’s moving fast.” And as he said this, the wind picked up, making the house creak. He turned around and headed back up the stairs. 

“What was that?” Jackson asked the room.

“I’m sorry,” Lydia started… but her mouth was open looking for the right words. Stiles’ shook her head at her. 

“Don’t worry. If he’s going to get mad at anybody, he’s going to be mad at me.”

Scott clapped a shoulder on Stiles’ shoulder and smiled a sympathetic smile. “I never thought of him like that.” He said. “He has dealt with a lot of shit, hasn’t he?”

Stiles nodded. “I really think he wants to help you guys. It’s just everyone he’s ever considered family is gone. That’s got to cause some serious trust issues.”

Jackson’s face fell and he nodded.

Thunder rolled over the house again.

“Well, we should go,” Allison began. “If you’re right, Stiles, and he does have our best interests at heart, then we should listen to him. I really don’t want to drive in the rain.”

Stiles smiled and Scott and Jackson agreed, heading for the door. Lydia hung back for a moment.

“I really didn’t mean to-” 

“Really, Lydia,” he started. “It’s okay. That whole rant has been building up inside me for awhile. You’re doing pretty awesome with all the werewolf stuff.”

She shrugged, “it’s nice to know I’m not crazy and just making up things. Or that you guys were like… not wanting to be friends anymore. I felt so alone, you know? Like you all had a secret club house and I wasn’t invited. Except you guys really did have a kind of a club… you guys just call it ‘pack.’”

He chuckled, “you are the smartest person I know. I doubt we could have kept it from you for much longer.”

She smiled and he motioned for her to lead the way out the house. And as he had his hand on the door handle to close it, he turned back into the house and said, “my couch still has your name on it. Whenever you need it.”

It was already starting to get dark when they all in their cars, heading back into town, back to their homes, and the primetime shows had already been in full swing by the time the first rain drops fell on Stiles’ windshield when he pulled into his driveway.

A note on the fridge “storm coming in, I’ll be at the station, be safe, eat your veggies - dad” made Stiles smile and he purposely pulled out a can of green beans to heat up with his chicken strips. As they turned in the microwave, Stiles kinda zoned out, thinking about everything he had said to Derek. He reached for the small bread box that sat on their counter, fingers on the handle slowly rolling it up, remembering summer afternoons full of peanut butter sandwiches and eskimo kisses. His mother really did live in this house. He didn’t know if he could handle it if she had died here too. 

The microwave dinged just about the time that the doorbell did. Stiles looked up, confused. Opening the microwave, he left and went to the door. 

And there stood Derek.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, staring each other down. Derek’s face was on default scowl, Stiles cursing his legs for not running. Then it thundered, both boys jumped. And Derek rolled his eyes and shook his head. 

Stiles wished Scott was there. Or Jackson. Or his dad. Or Chris Argent. Or anyone that could actually stop a werewolf on a warpath. Stiles was internally freaking out. Derek was here to kill him or maim him or throw him around like a rag doll and he was alone and the storm would cover his screams so his neighbors wouldn’t hear and oh my god why weren’t his legs moving?

Then Derek spoke, “I’ve never been good at having other people’s backs.”

“What?”

“What you said. How pack is about having each other’s backs. I’ve never been good at that.”

Stiles calmed down, and then turned back into the house, opening the door wider. “Come in.” Derek slumped in, wiping his shoes first. “I think this is the first time you’ve used my front door.”

“Shut up.”

He wanted to comment back as they headed into the kitchen, but he smiled to himself instead.

They split the chicken strips and green beans. They ate in silence as the storm blew in full force. It was an awkward silence. And Stiles couldn’t stand it. He ended up turning the radio on as he started to wash dishes.

Thing was, he could tell that Derek felt just as awkward. Like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know what else to say. So that left any further conversation for the evening up to Stiles. 

‘Crap,’ he thought. Because he didn’t know the first thing to say. But then Derek grabbed a towel and began drying dishes. Stiles was taken aback, but turned back to the sink. They worked through the end of a song, and the host came on and said something about the storm probably lasting through the night and then commercials started. 

He eased into the chore, oddly comfortable with someone standing next to him, drying. They had an easy flow going until Stiles got to a plate someone had left from the night before and he had to scrub. Derek rested against the counter, waiting.

He looked up from the suds for a moment, to see that he looked calm. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Are you?”

He stopped scrubbing, “yeah.” He smiled. “Why would I lie to a werewolf?” Then he handed Derek the wet plate.

Derek’s eyebrows rose for a moment, in what Stiles swore looked like amusement. But he didn’t know for sure - he was still learning Derek’s face.

“I don’t know if ‘thank you’ is appropriate response for someone yelling at me but, thank you.”

Stiles watched him dry the plate and carefully sit it on top of the others. Then he turned back to Stiles like he was waiting for him to say something.

“Anytime,” he said with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

“And thank you for dinner.”

“Wow! Two thank you’s, we’re going for a record!”

“Well, my mother wanted me to be a gentleman.”

Stiles laughed as he started washing a cup. Derek shoved him, but only a little, as if he were a buddy in the locker room. Stiles’ heart soared. Maybe he was getting through to old, sour wolf.

“For the record,” he started, handing over the clean cup, “I feel like you have my back.”

“What?”

It was Stiles’ turn to lean against the counter. “You won’t like why, it has to do with Peter.” Derek tensed up, but he didn’t feel like he pulled away.

“Why?”

“Well for starters you tried to protect me from him in the hospital. That gave you a bunch of brownie points. And well,” Stiles took a deep breath. “You wanted to help Scott. And he’s not the brightest crayon in the box, but he’s the closest thing I have to a brother.”

“So you trust me because of Scott. You know Scott doesn’t like me most of the time.”

“No. Well yeah, but that’s not the whole reason. You came looking for your sister. And then, when you learned what happened to her, you stayed to find out who did it. To do something about it. I don’t know, a lot of people could have just taken the chance to completely start over. Run away, especially knowing that there was this unknown Alpha running around. But you stayed.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“That’s just it,” Stiles argued, “you do. You could go anywhere and be whoever you wanted. But you stayed.”

“I don’t…”

Stiles sighed, frustrated, “when you decide that someone is on your side, you don’t stop. You don’t run away. You stay even though that house is such a…”

“Death trap?”

“A bad memory.”

“It has a lot of good ones too,” he tensed up, defensive.

“I get that.” They stood for a moment, silent. “Well you smell like wet dog.”

Derek scowled.

“Go take a shower. And please don’t argue. You’re sleeping on my couch I don’t want my couch smelling like wet dog.”

Derek’s scowl deepened, “I am not a dog.”

“Yeah, yeah, a wolf, whatever it’s a technicality.” Derek rolled his eyes and huffed. Stiles smirked. “Towels in the hall closet upstairs.”

Surprisingly, Derek turned and followed Stiles’ orders. Quarter of an hour later, the shower turned off and Stiles smiled. 

But then his dad came bursting through the door, looking all sorts of exhausting.

“Dad!” Stiles said, standing up from the couch where he was watching the weather. “You’re home! I thought you said you’d be at the station.”

“Yeah,” he sniffed. “And I think I was out in the rain too long.” He sounded horrible as he shook off his rain gear and boots. He shivered as he stepped down onto the cold floor. “I already feel like death. I am so exhausted. It doesn’t help I’ve worked three shifts straight.”

Stiles shook his head. “You should go to sleep.”

“Planning on it,” he said, already heading toward the stairs. Stiles hit the power on the TV and followed him up, hoping to whatever God was listening that Derek’s ears were turned on. 

“Serious. Don’t go in there and go through police reports or campaign folders. Sleep.”

“Yes sir,” his dad said with a smile behind him. As they got to the top of the stairs, the bathroom door was open, but his bedroom door was closed. He hoped that’s where Derek was, and he didn’t hop out a window or something.

He walked his dad into his room, and made sure that he was laying down and that his box of case files were out of arm’s reach. He pulled the covers up around his dad’s middle and turned off the ceiling fan, scared that it would make his chill worse. He was already halfway there when Stiles said, “Sleep, dad.”

“Thank you, Monica.”

He paused at the door, about to turn off the light, when the words hit him.

“What?”

But his father was already asleep. The emptiness weighed down on Stiles’ shoulders. His dad still slept only on the left side of the bed. Her vanity sat, unused, against a wall. He was certain that some of her clothes still hung in their closet.

“Goodnight dad,” he whispered, eyes threatening to tear up again. It had been an emotionally exhausting day. And as he shut the door to his father’s room, he saw a wet-haired Derek, fresh from his shower, watching him from his doorway.

“I’m not the only one that lives in a graveyard.”

Stiles’ felt his face break as the prickling in his eyes worsened and then he pulled it back and held it together. “Nope. You’re not.”

“I should go,” he said, pointing towards the stairs.

“What? Why? No…”

“You’re dad’s home, it’s weird.”

“Why? No. Stay.”

Derek put his hands in the pockets of his jacket. “What if your dad wakes up and sees me on the couch. Kind of hard to explain.”

“Then sleep in my room, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No. I’m not going to do that. My mother raised a gentleman, remember?”

Stiles smiled. “Just don’t go.”

Derek took a deep breath, “fine.”

“Good.” 

That lead them to arguing about the floor versus the bed and Stiles rolled his eyes and said that his bed was big enough and they were both grown boys and that they could share a bed until the next time (which Stiles mentally made a note to buy a blow up mattress or something he could keep in his closet) and Derek rolled his eyes and got angry and the whole time the storm found a second wind or something because the thunder just got louder and the wind got stronger and there was no way Stiles was letting Derek walk out his door.

Which meant that they were laying side by side in a full size mattress, turned away from each other, on the far side of the bed as they could.

“This isn’t so bad,” Stiles started. “I mean, one time at sleep-a-way camp, there were five guys in a bed this size and let me tell you, five twelve year olds who had just had beans for dinner was not a good night.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?” He turned over his shoulder.

“Shut up.”

He huffed a sigh out, “right. Goodnight.”

Stiles dug deeper into his pillow, thinking that if someone had told him he’d be sharing a comforter with Derek Hale this morning he would have laughed in their face and suggest they take up creative writing as a hobby. But here it was, almost ten o’clock, and Derek Hale was only a few feet away, in his bed. He had quite the day.

A finger found his teeth and he started chewing on his finger nail.

“Stop that.”

“Sorry.” 

Then…

“You can hear that?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow. That’s… cool.”

They fell into a bit of an easy silence after that and Stiles would have the werewolf would have fallen asleep. He was so wired it was going to take a few hours of staring at his wall for him to fall asleep, he feared. The storm wasn’t helping things, either.

“How’d your mom die?”

It was a simple question. One he had answered a hundred times. But this was different.

“Cancer.” He was surprised at how low and broken his voice sounded. He went on. “First time she got sick, I was too little to understand. I knew she was going to the doctor and that my grandmother was practically living with us, but I thought that was cool. She slept a lot. But she hugged me tight every night before I went to sleep.

“The second time she got sick, it happened so fast… the first time built up over a few years. The second time was only a few months. And she fought so hard. And it’s so disgusting watching someone get eaten from the inside and have nothing you can do about it.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Stiles wiped his nose on his sheet. “I’m sorry about your family, too.”

“Yeah,” he answered.

Stiles’ mind was racing with everything that had happened. Lydia finding out about the werewolves, yelling at Derek, dinner with Derek, what had just happened with his dad, sharing a bed with Derek. He couldn’t keep up, so he just shut his eyes and gave up. Slowly, sleep claimed him.

The next thing he knew, thunder boomed so loud that it woke him up. It woke Derek up too, and he leaned back into Stiles’ arms. Stiles, still halfway asleep, understood the noise to be the storm, and closed his eyes to go back to sleep, rubbing his nose in Derek’s shirt and realised he hadn’t felt this comfortable or safe in a long time.

…wait.

His arms around Derek. His nose in his shirt. Stiles’ eyes opened wide and he pulled his head back from what was Derek’s back.

“Stiles,” came Derek.

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, hating that his voice cracked.

“What are you doing?”

He took a deep breath, and let it out, the air making Derek’s shirt move. He took another, thinking about how comfortable he still was, despite the tense muscles and the strain in his neck from moving his head back so suddenly.

“I don’t know.” Then he realized that Derek had an arm cradled around Stiles’ and was gripping his wrist. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know.”

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to nuzzle his face back into Derek’s neck and back and pull him closer and hold him tight. Actually, that was the truth. That had been the truth for awhile. Ever since he saw the guy staring up at his own home, sad and angry. He wanted to hug the guy then.

Now he kind of was.

He could slowly peel himself off the guy, roll over to the other side of the bed, and wake up all awkward in the morning, but he kept thinking about how he just wanted to hold the guy.

‘Crap,’ he thought as he slowly gave in to instinct and moved his head back to a more comfortable position against the werewolves’ back. Derek’s grip did not change. 

“What are you doing?”

“I think it’s called spooning.” 

“Shut up, what are you doing?” He didn’t sound angry. 

“I don’t know.”

“Stiles…” 

“Don’t be such a sour wolf,” he said into Derek’s back, nuzzling his nose deeper. It took a moment, a flash of lightning and a soft rumble of thunder, but Derek responded. The grip around Stiles’ wrist relaxed and everything about him settled back into Stiles. And then he shook for a moment, but just a moment. Realization flooded through Stiles as the jerks came out of his stomach and how he ducked his head against the pillow… the guy was trying not to completely break down and cry. Instinct kicked in again, and he moved closer. He pulled himself up the bed, lining up his chest with Derek’s back, his face even with the back of Derek’s head, nose buried in hair that smelled like Stiles’ own shampoo.

The grip around his wrist re-tightened and then pulled him closer. “You tell anyone about this and I’ll tear your spinal cord out your mouth and then strangle you with it.”

Stiles laughed against his neck. “A plus for creativity. Usually you just rip my throat out or my head off.”

“Those threats are still on the table.”

“Yeah, but you’re the little spoon.”

“Shut up,” he said, but his leg reach back and pulled one of Stiles’ between his. He was completely curled around the older man at this point, and holding on tight. He turned his head to look back at Stiles. “I have the power to literally kill you at any moment.”

Stiles smiled and nuzzled again. “Whatever you say.” He took a deep breath, “you know… I’ve never spooned with anyone before, this is nice. It’s like a horizontal hug but… backwards.”

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Yeah.” He answered.

As the storm left, the morning came, and with it came a slow realization that at some point Derek had rolled over and Stiles had buried himself below the guy’s chin, and had wrapped a leg around his thigh. It was nice, though, and he let himself be held for a moment. The sun had come through his window and hit him in the face, warming him. He moved deeper into Derek’s hold, trying to escape the sun.

“I know you’re awake,” the vibrations in Derek’s throat rumbled in his head filling him with all sorts of funny feelings. Derek had been awake before him, but did not move. He was enjoying the embrace just as much as Stiles was.

“Shh, it’s too early.”

“It’s eight o’clock.”

“‘sactly,” he mumbled, refusing to open his eyes.

“Don’t you have school?”

“‘s Saturday.”

“Oh,” said Derek. He then moved his chin and adjusted his arms. “Okay.”

“Hey Derek,” Stiles said, sleepily.

“Hmm.”

“Stay.”

“Okay.”


End file.
